Im Falle Eines Falles
by Rogue11
Summary: Treize Khushrenada and Milliardo Peacecraft, Lovers, playboys, private investigators…? Can anything good really come out of that?
1. Settings

**Just when I was thinking about writing a fun and lighthearted story to work on simultaneously with "The Purrfect Houseguest" this plot bunny appeared out of nowhere, viciously attacked me and just wouldn't let go. **

**So far I have 3 "cases" plotted out, but depending on how it turns out and how people like it I'm thinking of adding more.**

**Enjoy! (and don't forget to let me know what you think about it)**

**Title: **Im Falle eines Falles… (German for In Case of a Case…)

**Author: **Rogue 11

**Rating: **R

**Warnings: **yaoi, lemon, lime, some violence, bad language, random silliness

**Pairings: **13x6, 6x13

**Notation: **_Italics_ – indicates thoughts

**Bold** – indicates emphasis

**About the Story:  
**Treize Khushrenada and Milliardo Peacecraft, Lovers, playboys, private investigators…? Can anything good really come out of that?

Treize and Milliardo are two high living, hot-shot PIs who are very particular when it comes to their clients. But then, they can afford to be picky, because they are the best in what they are doing.

This fiction is a collection of short stories about some of the cases they worked on.

1) The Case of the Missing Exchange Student

Chang Wufei is an intelligent, top notch student from China, spending his senior high school year abroad. When he suddenly disappears after going out to a movie with friends, his host family hires a team of private detectives to find him.  
Did Chang just run away as the police suspects or was he the victim of some kind of crime? Can Treize and Milliardo find him before it is too late?

2) A Strange Case of Kidnapping

Quatre Raberba Winner, heir to the Winner fortune, gets kidnapped, and the Khushrenada/Peacecraft team is hired to deliver the ransom money.  
It looks like an easy case, but it doesn't take long before the two detectives realize that things just don't seem to add up.

3) A Case Too Hot To Handle

When Milliardo's younger sister shows up at their office with the tale of a classmate who mysteriously disappeared, the couple agrees to look into the case just to get her off their backs. But as soon as they start their investigation they find themselves up to their ears in trouble. Did they bite of more than they can chew this time?


	2. Chapter 1

A special Thank You to Anne Olsen for beta reading.

The Case of the Missing Exchange Student

Part 1

Milliardo gave an irritated groan, and pulled the comforter up over his ears when a ray of sunlight suddenly hit his bed. "What are you doing? I'm still trying to sleep," he growled.

"Sorry, but it's time to get up." Treize opened the shutters of the second window as well, before walking over to the bed. He pulled away the blanket and bent down to kiss his lover's forehead.

The fair-haired, young man cracked one eye open and frowned. "Why are you already dressed?"

"Because we're having a meeting with clients in little more than an hour."

"Why do you have to schedule a meeting at such an ungodly hour?" the blond huffed.

"It is nearly 11:30," Treize informed him.

"Like I said, what an ungodly hour." Milliardo finally opened both eyes. He reached out, got a hold of his lover's tie, pulling him closer.

"Stop it, Milliardo; we don't have time for…" Treize's protest was cut short as the blond captured his lips in a heated kiss.

"Mmm," Milliardo nipped at his lover's lower lip. "You smell so good." He was still holding onto the older man's tie. It took just one good tug, and Treize tumbled right on top of him. With a satisfied grin, the blond wrapped one of his long, slender legs around him.

"Not now dearest!" Treize tried, somewhat unwillingly, to untangle himself from Milliardo.

"But Treize…" the blond gave a frustrated groan as the older man batted his fingers away from the buttons of his pants. He pouted, glaring at his lover who rolled his eyes as he tried to smooth his hair back into a presentable state.

"I'm serious, Milliardo; you need to get up. It will take us at least fifteen minutes to get to the office."

"Let me drive and we will get there faster."

"You don't have a driver's license," the ginger blond man pointed out.

"Exactly, that means they can't take it away if we do get stopped."

"Your logic escapes me." Treize shook his head as he finally freed himself and rose to his feet. "You lost your license in the first place **because** you were driving too fast. I don't think the police call you "Lightning Count" because they are so very fond of you. Just because you own a car that **can** drive 150mph doesn't mean that you **have** to drive that fast. "

Milliardo gave him an innocent look that only he could master. "But then, where is the fun of having a car like that?"

"I give up," Treize threw his hands in the air in a gesture of defeat. "It's a lost cause."

His blond partner chuckled. "Does this mean I can go back to sleep?"

"Don't even think about it. Get in the shower now, before I drag you there myself."

Milliardo mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like: "Slave driver," even as he finally pushed away the covers and swung his long legs over the side of the bed.

Treize simply snorted at the remark and walked out of the room. "Hurry up, and you might even get some breakfast," he said just before the door closed behind him.

* * *

The _K P Investigative Bureau_ was located near downtown. The two partners had bought the entire top floor of a small office building, and completely rebuilt it, back when they first started out in the business.

The waiting room was empty when they arrived. Treize ran his keycard through the lock to open the door to the office. The large room was furnished in a way that made it look both, professional and at the same time stylish and inviting. The walls were lined with bookcases. Two heavy oak desks with large, high back leather chairs were set up on one side of the office; while on the other side a small, yet comfortable sitting area provided a more casual atmosphere.

"The Carters should be here any minute, could you put on some coffee, dear?" Treize asked, as he opened one of the large windows to let in the warm spring air.

"Why do I always have to make coffee? What am I, your secretary?"

"But of course not." Treize flashed his lover a brilliant smile. "It's just that your coffee is so much better than anything I could ever brew."

Milliardo shuffled into the adjoined kitchen, even as he huffed and mumbled something about Treize being able to even charm a rattlesnake out of its next meal.

"I'll take that as a compliment," the tawny-haired man laughed.

While Milliardo prepared the coffeemaker and filled a tray with dishes, cream and sugar, Treize set up a recorder. He liked to tape the conversations with his clients rather than going through the painstaking process of writing down all the necessary information. It was not only easier; it also allowed him and Milliardo to later go over the tapes again to make sure they didn't miss anything important.

Just as the fair-haired detective walked back into the office, the sound of a buzzer indicated that somebody had entered the waiting room. Treize went to check, and gave their visitors, a couple in their mid-thirties, a polite smile. "Mister and Missis Carter, I assume?" He greeted the couple with a firm handshake. "I'm Treize Khushrenada. We spoke on the phone yesterday. This is my partner, Milliardo Peacecraft." He gestured at Milliardo and then toward the sitting area. "Please make yourselves comfortable."

As Mr. and Mrs. Carter settled down in two of the cream colored leather chairs Milliardo disappeared into the kitchen once again to get the coffee.

"From what I understood from our conversation yesterday," Treize said as he took a seat across from the couple, "this is about your son?"

"No, actually he isn't our son. We are just his host family," Mr. Carter explained. "Wufei is an exchange student from Hong Kong, who has been staying with us since last fall. Two days ago he went out to see a movie with his friends and never returned."

"Just wondering, why didn't you go to the police first before trying to hire a private detective?" Treize wanted to know.

"But that's exactly what we did. First thing in the morning, after we realized that Wufei hadn't come home," Mr. Carter replied, and his wife nodded in confirmation. "They told us they couldn't do much," he continued. "Since Wufei had turned eighteen only a few weeks ago, he is technically an adult and as such he had the right to disappear if he chooses to. The police can't do anything for at least seventy-two hours unless they have proof that a crime was committed. Besides, I had the feeling that the detective we talked to wasn't taking the whole story very seriously to begin with. He kept telling us that it was not uncommon for teenagers to disappear for a few days."

"Perhaps the detective is right?" Milliardo remarked as he set the tray on the table, and proceeded to pour the coffee. "Maybe the young man has a girlfriend somewhere or he had a little too much to drink and is just crashing at a friend's house."

Mrs. Carter shook her head and gave the blond detective a tired smile. "You wouldn't suggest such things if you knew Wufei. He doesn't drink, and he doesn't have time for girls. The only thing he is concerned about right now is his studies and his grades. Finals are coming up soon. He has been working too hard the entire year to throw it all away now."

"My wife is right," Mr. Carter confirmed. "Wufei is not the type of person who likes to hang out with friends or party. He actually likes to study and he loves to read. He is … how should I put it…"

_A nerd…_ Milliardo finished the sentence in his mind. _Wonderful, this is just what I had hoped for. Who would not want to spend the weekend combing the city for some teenage geek who is probably hanging out somewhere, having the time of his life, after finally discovering that there is more to life than textbooks and homework?_

Barely listening to their clients' ramblings, Milliardo rose and walked to the window behind their backs. He propped himself up against the windowsill, raised his hand and drew his finger across his throat, imitating a cutting gesture. Treize, picking up his partner's signal, answered with an almost unnoticeable nod. Apparently he was no more interested in the case than Milliardo was.

"We've brought a picture like you ask us to. If you'd like to take a look…" Mrs. Carter rummaged in her purse. From where he was standing Milliardo could look over her shoulder as she pulled out a small 4x6 photograph. The blond detective frowned slightly. The boy…young man in the picture looked nothing at all like the image of Wufei that he had created in his head. He had a serious looking, but very handsome face, golden tanned skin and lightly slanted dark eyes. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and his firmly closed mouth gave him a determined expression. Milliardo's frown deepened as he suddenly recalled something he had read about just a few days earlier.

Treize took a sip from his coffee and set the cup carefully back onto the table before he spoke. "I certainly understand your concern, but I can also see the detective's point of view. There are probably hundreds of similar cases where a teenager ran away, just to return on his own a day or two later. Perhaps you might want to reconsider spending a lot of money on a private detective and…"

"Are you saying that you won't be able to help us?" Mr. Carter asked.

"You'll have to understand…"

"No, actually," Milliardo interrupted, as he pushed away from the window and walked over to Mrs. Carter. "What my partner is saying is that we are more than happy to help you, as long as you are sure that's what you would like us to do. We are not bound to the same rules and regulations as the police and therefore we can start looking for the young man right away. May I take a look at that picture please?"

"Milliardo, may I speak to you for a second, in private." Treize rose, giving their clients an apologetic look. "If you'd excuse us for a moment..." He grabbed the younger man by the arm, nearly dragging him into the kitchen, and closed the door behind them. "What in the world do you think you are doing? Didn't you just signal to me that you had no interest in taking this case? And to tell the truth, I agree with you on that."

"That's right," the blond confirmed. "But that was before I saw this." He held up the photograph for his partner to see."

Treize rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Milliardo, for once, can you please try to think with your head, and I'm referring to the one that's sitting on your shoulders."

Milliardo snorted. "But I am. Seeing his photo just reminded me of something I read somewhere a couple of days ago."

His partner remained skeptical. "And what would that be?"

"Last month three Japanese teenagers disappeared from a cruise ship docking at Long Harbor," the blond explained. "They belonged to a group of students on some kind of educational tour. Some of their classmates told the police later that the three boys had sneaked off the ship during the night to explore the city on their own. They never returned."

"Hmmm…" Treize stoked his chin thoughtfully. "I don't remember reading anything like that in the paper."

"I didn't say it was it in the paper, did I? I read it in a police report."

"You hacked into the police data base again?" the older man asked sternly.

Milliardo simply shrugged. "You can't really call it hacking, you know. Any 4th grader with a semi decent computer can get into that database without even breaking a sweat."

"That's not exactly the point, but in any case, if there was a connection, don't you think the police would have noticed it too?"

"The Carters live in Mirfield, the other boys disappeared in Long Harbor. Two different counties, two different jurisdictions, maybe they don't share information. Maybe I'm wrong." The blond gave another shrug. "But I think there are some similarities. Those boys were a few years younger, but…"

"Let me see this." Treize reached for the photograph, studying it quietly for a few moments before he turned and walked back into the office. "You said that Wufei just turned eighteen, didn't you? How old is this picture, if I may ask."

"We took it only a few weeks ago while we were on a weekend trip." Mrs. Carter replied. "Wufei wanted to send some photographs home to his family."

"No offence, but he looks younger than eighteen, doesn't he?" the tawny-haired detective remarked after another quick look at the photo.

"You are right," the woman confirmed. "And the fact that he is a little small for his age doesn't help either. Even his friends tease him about it, in a lighthearted way of course."

Treize exchanged a quick glance with Milliardo then he nodded. "Well, I think I still have a few more questions that I'd like to ask you, and then we can start typing up the contract," he suggested.

* * *

"So, what do you think?" Treize asked as he drove his Mercedes through the inner city. "What's the connection between those three Japanese boys and Wufei, aside from the fact that they are all Asian, and at least by appearance, about the same age?"

"I'm not sure," Milliardo, sitting in the seat next to him, shrugged. "But I can't believe that it is just a coincidence. Did you noticed, the movie theater Wufei and his friends went to is not that far away from the harbor. It's quite possible that that's exactly the same part of town the other three boys went exploring the night they disappeared. "

Treize nodded. "Yes, I noticed that too. Perhaps we will know more once we talked to Wufei's friends. We should meet with them before we decide how to proceed."

"Meet with them?" Milliardo echoed. "Have you ever heard of something called a telephone, Mr. Holmes? It's a device that lets you talk to other people without actually having to be in their physical presence."

Treize chuckled softly. "Call me old fashioned, but I actually like to look people in the eye when I question them. That makes it much harder for them to lie to me."

"Somehow I knew you would say something like that," the blond sighed. "Fine, but at least let us stop somewhere and eat something first. I'm starving."

"That's your own fault. You should have gotten up when I told you and you would have had time to eat breakfast before leaving the house." Treize didn't sound the least bit sympathetic.

Milliardo huffed. "You really are a slave driver, do you know that?"

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:

Feedback is greatly appreciated, constructive criticism is welcome -)


	3. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everybody who reviewed this story**

The Case of the Missing Exchange Student

Part 2

Wufei Chang woke slowly. It was like resurfacing, after plunging into the deep end of a pool. Slowly his senses started to return. He opened his eyes, but it took a few moments before he was able to focus. He was lying on his back on a narrow cot.

The young man sat up, swung his legs over the edge of his bedstead and groaned. His head was pounding, he was dizzy, and his mouth was dry and felt as thought he had been chewing on an old sock. He waited for a moment for the vertigo to dissipate before he rose to his feet.

The room…, cell he was in was small and without any windows. It was only dimly lit by a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling, but he could make out a toilet and sink across the room, a small table and a single chair and a heavy iron door. No, this was definitely not his room at home.

_Where am I? And how the hell did I get here?_ Wufei frowned as he thought hard. Slowly his memory started to return. He remembered going out with his friends, leaving the bar and walking home on his own; a car pulling up next to him; a man asking for directions. Then somebody grabbed him from behind. He was pulled into the car; somebody pressed a strangely smelling piece of cloth over his nose. He tried to fight but he passed out quickly. _How long have I been out? A few hours perhaps?_

He started to inspect the cell closer and realized that both the table and chair were bolted to the floor, so using them as some king of weapon or throwing object was out of question. On the table was a plate with sandwiches, and a bottle of water. Suddenly Wufei realized that he was starving. He eyed the food suspiciously and decided rather not to eat it. His right arm itched and when the young man raised hand to scratch himself he noticed two little, red marks on the skin near his elbow joint. Needle tracks? Wufei frowned. They had probably given him some type of drug, most likely to keep him sedated, which meant he might have been out for much longer than he initially thought. How dare they to kidnap and drug him, whoever _they_ were.

In a flash of anger Wufei walked to the door and started to pound against the metal. It didn't take long before he could hear voices and footsteps.

"What the hell do you think you are doing? Shut up before I come in and make you," somebody yelled at him from the other side of the door.

Wufei snorted as he continued to pound against the door. _Let's see about that_. He could hear a lock being opened, then the door swung open.

Before the other man was able to even set one foot into the cell, he was kicked in the stomach. He was thrown backward and doubled over in pain. Wufei followed with a few solid punches that sent his opponent into lala land.

_All bark and no bite_. The Chinese youth gave a condescending snort. He felt better already. Unfortunately the feeling didn't last too long, because he found himself suddenly confronted by a whole group of men. With an angry shout Wufei attacked the man closest to him. For the first time in his life he was grateful that his grandfather had been so strict about his Wushu training. In a fair scrimmage he would have been able to take on two or three opponent easily. But there was nothing fair about this fight. He managed to land a series of kicks and punches before somebody hit him over the head with a hard object. Wufei broke to his knees and was immediately attacked from all sides.

"That's enough!" a voice, deep and emotionless, ordered. "He is no use to me bruised and beaten up. Get him up on his feet."

Wufei was grabbed by his arms and pulled to his feet. Two men were holding each of his arms. The youth scowled at the tall, dark-haired man who had given the orders. Apparently he was the boss around here. "Who the hell are you?"

The man gave an amused snort and stepped toward him. He seized Wufei's chin and forced it up. "You have spirit; I think I'll enjoy breaking you. Once you are trained I'm sure you will be a goldmine for me. The customers will be crazy for you."

Wufei gave an angry growl and tried to break free.

The man simply laughed. "Lock in up again, and make sure he don't get another chance to escape."

* * *

"Where are my car keys?"

Treize looked up from the computer screen. Milliardo was standing in the door, propped against the frame, looking like a sex-god. "You are going out?"

"Well since you seem to be hell-bent on working tonight instead of asking me out, I thought I'll check out that bar Wufei and his friends went to after their movie."

"Hmmm…" The tawny haired man let his gaze wander over his lover's body. A white, almost see through, and partially unbuttoned shirt showed off the blond's perfectly tones chest and left little to the imagination. A pair of very tight, very low cut jeans hugged his slim hips like a second skin. "Don't you think that you might be a little over…, or shall I say underdressed for the 'Well'?"

Milliardo shrugged. "I wasn't planning on spending all night there. Why don't you give me a call when you are done here; we can meet somewhere," he suggested. "So, where are my keys?"

"You don't have a driver's license." Treize reminded.

"And you point is?"

The tawny-haired detective sighed. "Try to be serious for just one moment, Milliardo. I bet Bonaparte has every cop in this town looking for your car. The moment you pull out of the driveway they will be all over you like flies over a piece of rotten meat. I really don't feel like driving downtown tonight to bail you out of jail again."

"You've got a point there," Milliardo admitted. "I'll take the Mercedes."

"Wait a moment, I just bought that car."

"Don't worry, I'll bring it back in one piece, I promise." The blond assured him, already on his way out.

* * *

The 'Well' was nearly empty. A few teens and tweens played pool or sat around alone or in small groups talking. Milliardo turned a few heads as he walked in and headed directly for the bar.

"Hello there," the bartender put down the glass he had been polishing and came over to him. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have a Rusty Screw, but go easy on the lemon," Milliardo ordered.

The man looked at him as though he was speaking Chinese.

"How about an Admiral with…never mind, just give me a double scotch on the rocks."

"Coming right up, Sir." The man walked away to pour the drink and was back only a few moments later. "I don't think I have seen your face around here before; new to the neighborhood?"

"Kind of," Milliardo replied evasively. "Do you remember all of your guests?"

"Most of them," the bartender replied. "People say I have something they call a photographic memory,"

"Is that so? Then, perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for someone."

That statement earned Milliardo a suspicious look. "Are you a cop?"

"Do I look like a cop?" the bond asked as he pulled out Wufei's photo and a twenty dollar bill.

"No," the other man laughed, "not really. Besides, cops usually flash their badges, not cash."

Milliardo grinned. "There is more where that came from, if you can give me some helpful answers. The boy in the photo, do you remember him?"

The bartender only took a quick look then nodded. "He was here a couple of days ago, but he wasn't alone. There were four of them, they came, had some drinks and played a couple of rounds of pool. I remember it well, because the kid got a little offensive when they ordered some shots and I ask him for his id. He didn't stay long, left by himself. About an hour later the rest of them left as well."

Milliardo nodded as he emptied his glass. This pretty much cooperated with the story that Wufei's friends had given them earlier that day. "Anything else you remember?"

"Hmmm…Not really," the man replied, then looked at Milliardo somewhat suspiciously. "Why are you asking? You're not one of those guys, who like little boys, are you?"

"He didn't come home that night. Like I said I'm looking for him. He is my little brother."

"Your brother?" The bartender took another look at the photo and frowned slightly.

"Same father, different mothers," the blond lied through his teeth.

"Ah, I see." The man reached for the whisky bottle and refilled Milliardo's glass with a sheepish grin. "This one is on me. Sorry for suggesting that you might be some kind of pervert, but in this business you meet a lot of strange people. See the guy sitting alone in the corner to your left?"

Milliardo nodded as he glanced at the man in question. "What about him?"

"I don't know, but the guy gives me the creeps. He comes here almost every evening, always alone. He has a few drinks and he watches the kids play pool." The barkeeper shrugged. "But hey, it's not like I can refuse to serve him or throw him out just because I don't like him, right?"

"Right," the blond confirmed. "Do you remember if he was here the night my brother and his friends were here?"

"I think he was, and now that you mentioned it, he actually left shortly after the kid."

_Interesting_ Milliardo thought as he watched the man's reflection in the mirrors behind the bar. _Maybe I'm on to something here._ "Do you remember the night, about four weeks ago, when three Japanese boys visited this bar?" It was a long shot, but worth a try. The blond could barely believe it when the bartender actually nodded.

"Of course I remember. Funny kids; didn't speak very much English, but from what I gathered they wanted to see the town. They asked me if I knew some places to have fun."

"What about him?" Milliardo gestured in the direction of the man at the table in the corner. "Was he here too that night?"

"I'm pretty sure he was."

_It gets better by the minute_, Milliardo thought with a satisfied smile.

* * *

Treize smoothed out his outfit in front of the large dressing mirror. He was dressed in a midnight blue, three button Armani suit. A blue and grey silk tie lay snuggly around the collar of his white shirt. Giving the sleeves one last tug he studied his reflection critically before nodding to himself.

He was just about to walk out of the bedroom when his cell phone rang. He pulled the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Treize, it's me."

"Milliardo, I was just about to call you. Where do you want to meet?"

"Actually I'll need you to pick me up," the blond detective replied.

Treize frowned. "Pick you up from where? What happened to my car?"

"Your car is fine," Milliardo assured him. "I left it at the 'Well'. I'm on foot right now. I think we might have gotten lucky. I'm following a suspect who might be involved in Wufei's disappearance."

"Where are you right now?"

"We left the 'Well' and headed west on Sunflower Blvd. Looks to me like he might be heading for the piers. I have a tracer on me. I'm going to activate it."

"Got it," Treize nodded. "It should take me about ten to fifteen minutes to get there. I'll keep my distance until you call me."

"Roger that."

"Be careful Milliardo," the tawny haired man added before the connection died.

* * *

"Sir," Detective Otto stuck his head into then small office that he shared with Detective Bonaparte. The young, rookie officer had only been working for this division for a few weeks, and his much older, and more experienced partner was till showing him the ropes. "I have an Officer Beckman from the 52nd precinct on the line. He says that the car that you asked him to look out for, the silver Porsche with the GV65 7B68 license plate, just passed them on the off-ramp to the 805 freeway. He wants to know if they should stop it."

"Tell him to follow the car, but don't stop it yet." Bonaparte rose from behind his desk and reached for his gun holster and jacket. "I want to be there when they arrest him."

Otto grimaced slightly. "Are you sure about this, Sir?"

"Of course I'm sure," the detective snapped. "Peacecraft has no regards whatsoever for the law, that's why he lost his license to begin with. And if he still drives that racecar of his even without a license, he ought to be arrested, don't you agree?"

"I do agree, Sir, but I think that it isn't our job to do. We should just leave it to the city police."

"Nonsense; I have been waiting for this day for a long time."

* * *

"Alex, phone for you."

A young man with shoulder long, blond hair looked up from the billiard table. "Can it wait; I'm in the middle of a game."

"It's the boss." The other man explained before he turned and walked back upstairs.

Alex put down his cue and gestured for his friend to play on without him. The phone was hanging right by the door that separated the club from its back rooms. He picked up the receiver that had been left dangling from its cord. "Mr. Catorce!"

"Alex, I have a job for you," the man on the other end of the line explained. "Brook just called in. Apparently he is being tailed by some guy who has been asking a lot of question at the 'Well'. He thinks it could be a cop, and he sounded like he was getting cold feet. I want you to take care of the problem."

"Where do I find them?"

"I told Brook to end down to the old warehouse by the pier. They should be in about fifteen to twenty minutes I would guess."

Alex nodded. "Alight, Boss; consider it done."

"Call me when you get back." With that Frank Catorce, owner of the Risqué club, terminated the connection.

Alex hung up the phone as well. His car was parked in the lot at the back of the club. It was only a short drive from there to the old warehouse. The pier lay dark and deserted. Nobody saw him when he pulled up behind the warehouse and removed a rifle case from the trunk of his car. He entered the abandoned, old building unseen, settled down beneath of the glassless windows, and opened the case. He assembled his rifle quickly and methodically, with the experience of somebody who had done this many times before. Last but not least he loaded the weapon with a single bullet. He had been a sniper before he started working as hitman for Catorce, and he had yet to miss a target.

The young man checked his watch. It was a quarter before midnight. If the boss's calculations were correct Brook should be here any moment. And indeed, only a few minutes later he noticed a figure coming down the dimly lit street. With a quick look through his scope Alex made sure it was right man. He didn't see anybody else. But then again, if there really was a shadow, it wasn't to expect that he'd follow his target openly. He used the scope on his rifle to search the area. A smirk crossed his face as he noticed a tall man with long, blond hair hiding in the shadows. _Ah, there you are! So, Brooks wasn't just being paranoid after all._

_

* * *

_

Treize swallowed a curse at the sound of sirens, and the sight of flashing lights in his rearview mirror. "Damn it, I really don't have time for this, right now," he groaned. Nevertheless he pulled over and rolled down his window.

The patrol car stopped right behind the Porsche and one of the officers exited and came toward him. Treize flashed the man a brilliant smile. "Good evening, Officer. What can I do for you?"

"License and Registration, please." The officer was still checking his papers when a white, unmarked sedan pulled up right beside them.

Treize managed to hold on to his smile, even as he recognized the men in the car. Detective Bonaparte got out of the passenger seat and walked over to the Porsche, frowning when he recognized the driver. "Khushrenada, what are you doing here?"

"As hard as it might be to believe, Detective, I was driving down the street when I was pulled over. The nice officer here was just about to tell me why; weren't you?"

"This is your partner's car, is it not?"

"It is," Treize confirmed cheekily. "But I assure you I did not steal it, he loaned it to me."

The bearded man huffed.

"Looks like everything is in order with his papers, Sir," the Officer remarked. He seemed unsure about what to do next and looked at the detective for help.

Bonaparte grimaced, then finally mumbled. "I apologize, it seems as though we've made a mistake."

Treize smirked smugly. He only wished he could have captured this moment on tape somehow and replay it for Milliardo to see. Just as the officer gave him his papers back, Bonaparte's rookie partner stuck his head out of the passenger window.

"Sir, I just got a call from the dispatcher. There was a shooting at the old pier; one victim, male. The paramedics declared him dead at the scene. We are to lead the homicide investigation…."

Treize didn't hear anything else; he had already started the car and pulled back onto the road. _A shooting at the old pier, one victim, male… _his heart had almost skipped a beat at those words. Milliardo had been heading for the old pier when he called. _Be safe, Milliardo. Please be safe!_

Treize raced down Bristol Blvd. The street was empty and he didn't care if he was breaking every traffic law in the book. Everything he could think about right now was Milliardo.

The usually deserted pier was filled with police vehicles, officers and spectators. He stopped the Porsche behind one of the patrol cars.

"Sir, you can't go any further, this is a crime scene." One of the officers tried to stop him as he slipped through the yellow tape.

He just ignored the man.

"Stop, Sir. Don't go any further," the officer demanded, his voice firmer this time.

The tawny haired man kept walking. They would have to arrest him if they wanted to stop him from checking if the man who was shot was his lover.

"Treize!"

Milliardo's voice had never sounded sweeter to his ears. The blond was standing near a police car to his right, with two cops. Treize breathed a sigh of relief as he headed toward them. Then he noticed that the shirt that Milliardo was wearing was soaked with blood. "Milliardo, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," his partner assured him. "The blood isn't mine."

Just then Bonaparte's unmarked police car arrived at the scene. Treize watched as the detective got out of the vehicle and talked to one of the officers nearby. The cop said something and pointed in Milliardo's direction.

Bonaparte scowled as he walked toward them, followed by his rookie partner, Detective Otto. "What is **he **doing here?"

"He was a witness to the shooting, Sir. The only witness it appears," one of the officers explained.

"I see," The detective nodded. "So, tell me then Peacecraft, what **did** you witness?"

"I've already given my statement to one of the cops that arrived before you." Milliardo replied smugly. "I really don't feel like repeating myself."

"Perhaps you might want to adjust that attitude of yours a little," Bonaparte growled. "You know I could take you Downtown and put you in protective custody. You are the only witness in this case after all…"

"And I could call my lawyer and have him file a complaint for harassment," Treize countered. He glared at the grey-haired detective. "I think your little personal vendetta has gone far enough."

Before Bonaparte could reply anything, his partner jumped in and stopped him. "Let them go, Sir. It's not worth the trouble," the argued. "We know where they live after all."

"Fine," the older man agreed reluctantly. "You can leave, but I expect to see you tomorrow morning at my office to sign your statement, Peacecraft. If you are not there at 9am on the dot, I'll send a patrol car to pick you up, with sirens, handcuffs and all the bells and whistles."

Milliardo snorted. "I would say kiss my ass, Detective, but you might take that the wrong way and actually take me up on it."

"You…!" Bonaparte hissed.

For a moment it looked like he was actually going strike the blond, but Otto reacted quickly and put himself between the two men. "Calm down, Sir." He turned his head and glared at Treize. "Get him out of here, **now**."

Treize gave the young detective a curt nod, grabbed his lover by the shoulder and prodded him toward their car. "That's enough, Milliardo. Let's go."  
He opened the door for Milliardo, before walking around the Porsche to the driver seat. "Are you sure, you are alright?" he asked as he slipped behind the wheel.

"I'm fine. Just a little edgy," the blond replied sardonically. "Watching somebody getting his head blown off does that to me."

Treize said nothing, and didn't ask any more questions. He knew that Milliardo would talk about it when he was ready. And he didn't have t wait long. After a few minutes of silence, his partner snorted and shook his head. "You know, whoever killed him could have just as easily shot me. Instead they chose to take out one of their own men."

The tawny haired man raised one eyebrow and glanced at Milliardo before looking back at the road. "Are you complaining?"

"No, but it tells me what kind of people we are dealing with," the blond replied. "He used a payphone while I was following him. He might have noticed that he had a shadow. I guess he called the people he worked for, not realizing that he was signing his own death sentence in doing so. He had become a liability, so they killed him without hesitation."

"Too bad we didn't even get a chance to ask him a few questions."

"Well, at least I got this off him before the cops came." Milliardo pulled a small square object from his pocket.

"What is it?" Treize asked, without turning his head.

"A match book, from a club called 'Risqué'," the blond explained. "He wasn't dressed like someone who would visit that kind of club."

"Hmm…It's a long shot, but perhaps we get lucky."

"That's what I thought too. So I guess we will be going clubbing tomorrow night."

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:

Feedback is greatly appreciated, constructive criticism is welcome -)


	4. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everybody who reviewed this story**

The Case of the Missing Exchange Student

Part 3

Carlos eyed the tall, tawny-haired man who had just settled down at one of the tables in his section. It was still relatively early and the club was only about half full. The olive-skinned waiter had been working at the Risqué for long enough to know most of the regular patrons by name. And as far as he could tell, the man was a new customer. He was good looking, and expensively dressed, Carlos was sure he would remember if he had seen him before. He waited for a few minutes before the approached the table. "Good evening, Sir. My name is Carlos; can I get you something to drink?"

"Thank you," the ginger-blond man answered. "I think I'll have a cognac; a glass of Vieille Réserve if you have it."

"Of course, Sir," the waiter nodded. "I'll be right back." He went to the bar to retrieve the drink and returned only a few moments later. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I'm not sure…perhaps. You see, this is my fist time here. A friend recommended the club to me. He mentioned that you offer a little more than just drinks and dancing," the customer replied. "I was looking for some… shall I say more personal, entertainment, if you know what I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean, Sir. I assume that your friend is one of our members. Here at the Risqué, we offer host services exclusively for members."

"Is that so?" Treize asked. He was rather satisfied with the way thing were going so far. "So, what does it take to become a member?"

"We do offer an annual or life time membership." Carlos explained.

"And how much would the lifetime membership fee be?"

Treize raised one eyebrow as the waiter named an almost astronomical sum. "I wasn't planning on buying the whole club?"

Carlos smiled politely at his joke, even though he had probably heard it countless times before. "I assure you, Sir, you will receive the best services possible for your money. And you have nothing to loose. If you are for any reason not happy, the club is offering a full refund within 30 days. Our members' satisfaction is our greatest concern."

"Very well," Treize smirked as he whipped out a credit card. "You have made me quite curious."

The waiter bowed slightly as he accepted the card. "I'll be right back, Sir. I'm sure you will not be disappointed, Sir. You won't be able to find any better hostesses anywhere."

"You might be right, and I'm sure your hostesses are all very lovely and classy ladies, however I'm more interested in some male companionship if that's possible."

"Of course, Sir. That not a problem at all."

* * *

The Risqué was located at the edge of what was called the 'Entertainment District', in a large, recently renovated, two-story building. Only few outsiders knew that when Roberto Catorce remodeled the club he also added a 3rd level below the ground, from where he was conducting most of his business. The underground level held everything from his private office, over quarters for his men, to a high-tech surveillance room that allowed him to monitor his club closely.

Catorce was in his office reading through last month's business records when his cell phone rang. "Yes?"

"This is Carlos, I'm sorry to disturb you, Boss, but I have a new customer who wants to become a member…"

"Hold on." Phone in hand, the tall Italian rose from behind his desk and walked into the surveillance room. "Which one?" he asked, as he stepped closer to the main monitor.

"Table 17, section A," Carlos replied.

"Section A, Table 17, give me a close up," Catorce told the man handling the controls. A few moments later the camera zoomed in on a tall man with reddish blond hair.

"I checked his credit card. He seems to be loaded. The card that he gave me has no limit on it, and when he opened his wallet I noticed a membership card to the south Bay Yacht Club."

"Alex!" the boss gestured for the blond assassin, who was playing poker in the other room, to come over. "Does he look familiar?"

Alex shook his head. "Not to me."

"Alright," Catorce decided. "I'll have him checked out. For tonight give him the standard treatment."

"As you wish, Boss."

Catorce terminated the connection and slipped the phone back into his packet. He was just about to walk back into his office when Alex, who was still studying the screen, suddenly spoke. "Wait a second, go back…more to the right… further, further…the table by the window."

"Something wrong?" the Italian asked as he turned his attention back to the monitor.

"The long-haired blond; the one flirting with the waitress…" Alex gestured at the screen. "That's him."

"Him?"

"The guy who was trailing Brook the other day."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Alex confirmed. "I wonder what he is doing here. This can't be a coincidence."

"Hmm..." For a moment Catorce seemed lost in thought, then his eyes narrowed and a dark smirk crossed his face. "Let's find out, shall we? Frank, Hawley let the gentlemen know that I would like to speak to him in private. And I won't take no for an answer."

* * *

The tawny-haired detective was sipping his cognac while watching the other people in the club. Milliardo was sitting at a table across the room, flirting shamelessly with the waitress. Treize tried to remind himself that it was just part of the job, but he couldn't help but fell that his partner was enjoying himself a little too much.

"Hello, I'm Marcello, Carlos said that you are looking for company!"

Treize turned his head and gazed at a young man in his early twenties, with black hair, olive skin, and large brown eyes. Marcello was a beauty, in every sense of the word. He was dressed stylishly in a pair of loose, black trousers and a white, half-buttoned silk shirt. A large pendant on a golden necklace drew attention to his perfectly sculpted chest. The young man flashed a flawless set of pearly white teeth as he handed Treize his credit card back.

"You should receive your membership card within a week," he explained. "Would you like to stay down here, or should we go upstairs where it is a little more quiet… and private."

"Upstairs sounds good," Treize decided. "Especially if that means we won't have to yell over the music to have a conversation."

Marcello nodded. "Shall we go then?"

As he rose, the tawny-haired man exchanged a quick look with Milliardo across the room. He briefly touched his ear, signaling that they would stay in touch, and his partner nodded in acknowledgement. Treize followed the host to an elevator.

"Only members are allowed upstairs," Marcello explained as he swiped his club card through an automatic lock. "You will need your membership card to use the elevator."

The doors opened with a slight swoosh, and Treize entered first. It took only a few second to reach the club's upper floor. The atmosphere here was very different. The music was subtle and soft. The lights were dimmed; candles burning on every table, providing an intimate but also discret impression. It was very obvious that people didn't come up here to dance or party.

There was a bar to the left. Arranged throughout the room were about a dozen tables, with comfortable looking, horseshoe shaped leather loveseats instead of chairs. Marcello stirred Treize to an empty table in the back of the room. "Should I get us something to drink?" he asked, as the older man settled down in one of the soft leather seats.

Treize nodded. "How about a good bottle of Champagne?"

"I'll be right back."

The tawny haired man let his gaze wander; taking the opportunity to study his surroundings. He noticed a door near the bar which was watched over by a bouncer, and he couldn't help but wonder where it might lead, and why it was necessary to 'guard' it, considering that this was a member only area. Perhaps beyond this door lay what he was looking for. In that case he would have to find a way to get past that doorman.

* * *

Only a few moments after Treize and his 'callboy' had disappeared into the elevator Milliardo noticed two tall, heavy build men approaching his table.

"Sir," the taller of the two, who looked like a gorilla dressed in a tailor-made suit, spoke. "Please follow us. Mr. Catorce would like to talk to you."

"Is that so?" the blond detective asked. "Then why don't you go and tell this Mr. Catorce, whoever he might be, that I'm busy right now, enjoying myself. If he wants to talk to me, he is welcome to join me. I'll even buy him a drink."

"I think you don't understand the situation. This wasn't simply a polite invitation." The man opened his jacket a little, just far enough that Milliardo could see the gun he was carrying in his shoulder holster. "You **will** follow us."

"You realize that that thing can do a lot of damage in a crowed place like this, don't you?" Milliardo gestured at the weapon.

"Probably," the gorilla confirmed. "But you wouldn't be around anymore to worry about that."

"Alright, you have got a point there," the blond agreed. "But I hope you don't mind if I finish my drink before we leave? I paid for it after all."

When the detective didn't get an answer he picked up the glass and finished his whiskey, deliberately slow, before he rose to his feet.

The two musclemen let Milliardo into the back part of the club and into an elevator that took them down to an underground level. As soon as the elevator doors closed one of the goons pulled out his gun. "Don't even think about doing anything stupid," he warned.

The doors reopened only a few second later, and the blond detective was prodded into a large room where at least half a dozen men were already waiting for them.

Milliardo let his gaze wander until his eyes fell upon a tall, dark-haired man who was sitting in one of the black leather chairs, smoking. One didn't have to be a genius to realize that he was the one in charge. Milliardo recognized the man instantly, after all he had checked up on the club and his owner before coming to the Risqué.

Roberto Catorce, an Italian born businessman who owned several clubs and casinos. Rumors had it that he was involved in everything from money laundry and drug trafficking to prostitution, but so far the police wasn't even able to give him so much as a traffic ticket.

"Is this a way to treat a paying customer?" the blond asked, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Don't expect me to recommend this place to any of my friends."

Catorce didn't answer, but his eyes darkened for a brief moment. He took another puff from his cigarette before crushing it slowly and meticulously in a large crystal astray. "Search him," he ordered curtly.

Instantly Milliardo was seized from behind; his arms twisted roughly onto his back by two of the goons, while a third, bald-headed thug started to frisk him. He pulled out Milliardo's cell phone and wallet, and handed it off to his boss before he continued to pat down the blond.

"Hey, watch your paws," Milliardo protested at one point. "I'm not that kind of a guy; I don't let just anybody touch me like that."

"Shut up," Baldy snapped at him.

Meanwhile Catorce was flipping casually through the wallet. A complacent smile crossed his face when he found Milliardo's ID and business license. "A Private Detective!"

He threw the wallet onto the table and rose slowly. Baldy stepped aside as the boss walked over to his captive. "So tell me, Mr. Peacecraft," he asked. "What's a private detective doing at my club?"

Milliardo shrugged, unimpressed by the threat in Catorce's eyes. "Believe it or not, but even private detective's have a social life. I came here for a few drinks, because I heard good things about this place. But to be honest, I think this club is highly overrated. The drinks are too expensive, the music is too loud and the customer service is plain and simple lousy. I think I'll take my money somewhere else from now on."

A brief sparkle of anger in Catorce's eyes was all the warning Milliardo got before a fist slammed into his stomach. He doubled over in pain, coughing.

Grabbing a handful of silvery-blond hair the Italian jerked Milliardo's head up, forcing him to look up at him. "You might think you are smart, but don't get too smart with me." Catorce glared at the detective. "It will be better for you to answer my questions, and answer them truthfully or I'll make you regret that you have ever been born."

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:

Feedback is greatly appreciated, constructive criticism is welcome :-)


	5. Chapter 4

**Thank you to everybody who reviewed this story**

The Case of the Missing Exchange Student

Part 4

Treize removed his arm from around Marcello's waist to pour more champagne. He had been making sure that the young man's glass was never empty, even as he only slowly sipped his own drink. His effort was starting to pay off when the alcohol loosened Marcello's tongue. He learned quite a few interesting things regarding the club and its owner. What interested him the most was the fact that the Risqué offered special services to a small number of so called 'VIP members'. According to the young host, Roberto Catorce did whatever he could to satisfy the wishes of those privileged - and well paying- clients. _Like offering them exotic looking, underage boy-toys, Treize thought grimly_.

"So…," he said, as he once again encircled the young man's slender hips, pulling him closer against his own body. "Let's say that I wanted to take you somewhere more… private, would I have to be a VIP member to do that too?"

"Well that depends. We are not allowed to leave the club while we are working, but there are a number of back rooms which are usually reserved for VIP clients. However, Mister Catorce usually doesn't mind if one of us hosts occasionally takes a customer back there."

"Is that so?" The tawny-haired man raised his hand, brushing his thumb softly over the young man's lips. "Tell me," he asked in a low, husky voice, "what are my chances of ending the night together with you in one of said 'back rooms'?"

Marcello gave a soft chortle. He was obviously flattered by his client's smooth talk. "Do you always move so quickly?"

"Not always," Treize whispered as he took the younger man's hand into his own and kissed each slender finger softly, "only when I'm together with someone as lovely as you." _Oh God, am I glad Milliardo can't see and hear me right now. He would let me never hear the end of it. - Talking of which…_He quickly and discreetly checked his watch. _It's almost time to check in with him._

"Would you mind getting us another bottle of champagne? This one is almost empty."

"Of course not." Marcello freed himself from the older man's embrace and rose.

Treize waited a moment, making sure the host was well out of earshot, before he pulled out his cell phone and dialed his partner's number.

* * *

"That's enough!" Roberto Catorce raised his hand, gesturing for Baldy to stop the beating.

Reluctantly the thug stepped aside, rubbing his sore, bleeding knuckles. Two other goons who had been restraining the blond detective released him, and Milliardo dropped to his knees, coughing, splattering blood over the cream-colored carpet.

"Are you finally ready to talk?"

The blond braced himself on one hand, while wiping away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with the other. "I told you already; I came here to have fun, and I don't know anybody by the name of Brook or Brooks, or whatever you called him."

Catorce stepped closer and crouched down in front of the keeling detective. He seized his captive's chin, forcing him to look at him.

Milliardo glared at the Italian, crystal blue eyes sparkling in a mixture of fury and defiance.

"You really think you are tough, don't you?" Catorce snorted. "I would love to proof you wrong. But unfortunately I have business to take care of right now. So, I'll do you a favor and give you some time to think. I suggest you use it wisely. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

He released Milliardo's chin and straightened. "Lock him up," he ordered.

Two of his goons grabbed the young man under his arms, pulled him to his feet and prodded him out of the room. Catorce turned, and was just about to walk back into his office when the detective's cell phone, which was lying on the table together with his wallet, suddenly rung. For a moment the tall Italian considered if he should pick up or turn the phone off, but in the end he simply ignored it and walked away.

* * *

_Pick up, Milliardo. Where in the world are you?_ Treize didn't even realize that his fingers were drumming nervously at the tabletop as he waited for his partner to answer his phone. After the fifth ring Milliardo's voicemail turned on. Treize hung up, waited a few seconds and dialed the number again. By the time the got the voicemail again he was sure that something wasn't right. He knew that Milliardo would never turn off his phone while they were working and he wouldn't just ignore it.

_Damn it, I knew this was a bad idea. I should have never let him come to this place_.

The tawny-haired man pressed a small, white button on his phone that switched on a tracking system. It took a few seconds before the device picked up the signal from the tracer Milliardo wore in his earring. When it finally did, Treize let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.  
He couldn't tell if his lover was alright, but at least he knew Milliardo was still somewhere nearby in this building. _If he just went to the bathroom and left his phone on the table I'm going to kill him_, Treize thought.

The special tracking devices had been custom made for them and he had paid a small fortune for them, but Treize didn't mind, because they provided peace of mind. And in a situation like this they could even be crucial. Milliardo of course always joked that he had only bought them to keep a close tap on his lover.

* * *

Wufei was doing what he had been doing most o the time since he had been locked into his cell again; lying with his hands interlaced behind his head on his cot, brooding. It wasn't like there was much else to do.  
To make sure that he wouldn't try to escape again they had even chained him up like a dog. A chain, long enough for him to reach the table, sink and toilet, was attached to his ankle with a solid steel manacle. Of course he had tried to free himself, but without much success. Unless he could get his hands on the key he would need some kind of a tool to pick the lock.

The young man frowned and pushed himself up on his elbows when he suddenly heard noises outside his cell door. His captors had brought him his dinner a few hours ago, it was sitting untouched on the table, and he hadn't expected to see them again till the morning.

The door was unlocked then pushed open, and a young man with long, silver-blond hair was pushed into the room. They shoved him so hard that he was barely able to break his fall.

Wufei cringed as the young man hit the floor with an ugly thump. He sat up and eyed the stranger with a mixture of wariness and concern.

The blond groaned, and braced his left side as he pushed himself up onto his knees. He was bleeding from a cut on his lip; his face somewhat bruised. He looked like he had been worked over thoroughly.

"Are you alright?"

Wiping away the blood from mouth the young man turned his head. A ghost of a smirk curved his lips as he looked at the Chinese youth. "Wufei Chang?" he asked.

Wufei's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do you know my name?"

The smirk deepened. "I guess this is the part where I'm supposed to say 'Hello Princess, I'm here to rescue you'."

"What?" Wufei stared at the man in bewilderment.

"That was what Luke Skywalker said when he rescued the princess, wasn't it?" the blond grinned, as he staggered to his feet, his right hand still pressed against his rips. "Not much of a Star Wars fan, are we?"

"I think you have gotten hit one too many times on the head," Wufei snorted. "Who the hell are you anyway?"

"My name is Milliardo Peacecraft. I'm a private detective, hired by your host family to find you." the tall man explained.

"You must be kidding. They hired a private detective and **this** is the best they could come up with?"

"Excuse me? What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"In case you haven't noticed, we are both locked up down here. What are you going to do Jedi Master; use the force to beam us out here?" Wufei asked sarcastically.

"Don't worry; I'll get us out of here," the blond assured him as he walked somewhat unsteadily to the sink. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with cold water. "… as soon as the room stops spinning."

* * *

"…so I say, what the hell are you talking about. Don't you recognize your own lipstick? You kissed me good-bye when I left yesterday, didn't you?" Zev Sieracki told his partner with a smooth grin. The two men were doing 'duty' at the Risqué's backdoor, probably the most boring and least desirable job in the club.

"And, did she buy it?" the other man asked.

"First she insisted that she didn't even have a lipstick of that shade, but I explained to her how neon light can affect colors; and being all night in the club and the smoke and the lights and such…"

"Geez Zev, you are so slick," Trent Westbrook laughed.

"Well, it isn't really that hard, you know. I mean she is hot and everything, but not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Not that I'm complaining though. I'll take boobs over brains any day."

The two guards burst out in laughter. When Trent turned his head he noticed a person in a dark suit stagger through the alley and into the yard. He huffed as he elbowed his partner. "Look at that guy."

The obviously drunk, tawny-haired stranger noticed them too and walked unsteadily toward them. "Hey, you!" He stopped, searched through his pockets and finally pulled out a slightly crumpled valet ticket. "Get me my car, will you," he demanded, as he offered the ticket to Trent.

The two guards exchanged an amused look before Westbrook answered. "Sorry, but I can't do that. I'm not the valet."

"You are not?" the stranger's prominent eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Then how am I supposed to get my car?" he asked with a heavy tongue.

"You took a wrong turn, Buddy. The valets are right next to the front entrance."

"Oh?" The man gazed around, puzzled, as though he was looking for said entrance.

Zev chuckled. "I think you had a little bit too much fun tonight. Let me show you the way before you get lost and end up somewhere you shouldn't be." Directed at his partner he added. "I'll be right back."

Trent shook his head, an amused smile curving his lips as he watched Zev steer the drunken man back toward the passage that let to the street. He pulled out a pack of Marlboro and put one of the cigarettes between his lips. He was searching for his lighter when he heard a thump, then something that sounded like a moan and finally another thump.

The man frowned. "Zev! Is everything alright?"

There was no answer. His frown deepened as Trent opened his jacket to reach his weapon quicker if he had to, and cautiously headed toward the alley way. As soon as he reached the dark passage way he noticed his partner, lying sprawled out on the ground, apparently unconscious. "What the hell…"

He looked up and froze, swallowing the rest of the sentence, as he stared into the barrel of a gun.

"I changed my mind; I'm going to stay a little longer after all," the tawny-haired stranger declared clearly and calmly. All of a sudden he seemed very sober.

Almost instinctively Trent's hand went for his own gun.

"I wouldn't do that; not unless you are eager to find out how it feels to travel in the back of the coroner's van."

The guard relaxed and slowly raised his hands.

"Good choice," Treize told him. "How slowly and with two fingers pull your gun out, drop it and push it toward me with your foot."

Westbrook complied.

"Excellent," Treize said. "I think we will get along nicely. Now take off your partner's tie and belt. Tie him up and gag him."

* * *

"So what you are saying is; there are others who were kidnapped like me?" Wufei asked.

Milliardo nodded. The blond detective was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He had told Wufei about their investigation, but he had left out the part about the murder. "We are pretty sure that Catorce is behind at least three more kidnappings."

"I don't understand why, though," the younger man frowned. "My family isn't rich or anything. My parents used almost all of their life savings to pay for my education here. It would be of no use to try to get any ransom from them."

"I don't think it is ransom they are after."

"But…"

"See, Catorce is offering host services to members of his clubs, which is really nothing else but a fancy word for prostitution. There are people out there who would be willing to pay a lot of money to spend time with someone with your looks and your body."

"What are you saying?" Wufei's frown deepened. But suddenly he seemed to grasp the implication behind the other man's words, and his cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson. "That bastard!" he growled.

"I think we should try to get out of here as soon as possible," Milliardo suggested. "Let me take a look at that chain on your leg."

"You can't just break it. I tried that already," Wufei told him. "You'll need the key to remove it."

"Keys are highly overrated." The blond detective smirked smugly as he opened belt and started to take apart the buckle. A few second later he held up something that looked like a lock pick. "This," he announced, "can be just as reliable, if you know how to use it. Let me demonstrate"

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Aren't you rather full of yourself for somebody who has been used as a punching bag?"

"Are you always that testy, or am I just bringing the best out in you?" Milliardo countered.

Wufei, who was sitting on the cot, huffed. He had been kidnapped, drugged and held captive for days; as far as he was concerned he had a right to be testy.

The blond walked over to the Chinese youth and crouched down in front of him. It took him less than a minute to open the lock and remove the shackle from Wufei's ankle.

"That was quick," Wufei seemed actually impressed. "It's not the first time you have done something like this, is it?"

"Picking locks?" Milliardo asked. "Its part of the job description you could say." Still on his knees the young man straightened up. He pulled out a tiny foil package that had been hidden inside the belt, ripped it opened and removed something that Wufei couldn't clearly see. "Open your mouth. I need you to swallow this"

Wufei frowned. "What? What is that?"

"Just a micro tracer. In case we get separated my partner will be able to track you. You have nothing to worry about. Those things are made to work only for about 24 hours. It will make its way through your system in the most natural way"

_In the most natural way..._ Wufei blushed slightly. "Forget it," he shook his head resolutely. "No way; I'm not going to…"

Before he was even able to finish the sentence Milliardo literally pounced at him, throwing him back onto the cot and holding him down with his superior weight. "Sorry, but we don't have time for this."

When the young man opened his mouth to protest the blond slipped the little silvery disk into his mouth, and then before the Chinese youth could react pressed their lips together.

Wufei wasn't sure which part of the detective's action surprised him more. He was caught totally of guard and swallowed reflexively. It took him a few moments to overcome his shock, but when he did he jerked his knee up and at the same time rammed his elbow in Milliardo's throat.

The blond stumbled backward, coughing and sputtering. "Are you trying to kill me?" he asked as he massaged his neck.

"Serves you right, you pervert," Wufei growled as he pushed himself up. "If you ever try anything like that again I **will** kill you."

"It wasn't **that** enjoyable." Milliardo huffed. "I'm not above giving you some pointers though, if you'd ask nicely."

"You…" Wufei snarled.

The blond detective suddenly raised his hand, stopping their little squabble. "What's that sound?"

The younger man listened. There was something that sounded like an alarm and a lot of commotion. "I'm not sure. But something is going on."

Milliardo nodded in agreement. Moments later they could hear footsteps outside their cell. "Someone is coming."

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:

Feedback is greatly appreciated, constructive criticism is welcome :-)


	6. Chapter 5

**Thank you to everybody who reviewed this story

* * *

**

The Case of the Missing Exchange Student

Part 5

"Someone is coming." Milliardo moved to put himself between the door and his fellow 'cell mate', ready to defend the younger man if necessary. "Stand back!"

"Forget it," Wufei snorted. "I have been waiting for this moment a lot longer than you. He is mine!"

The blond detective blinked, surprised, but there was no time to argue, because the door was already being unlocked. The moment it was pushed open then younger man flew, quite literally, into action.

* * *

Treize Khushrenada knew that he had no time to waste. Before too long Catorce's men would realize that somebody was sneaking around in their basement, and that he alarm that he had set off was only a fake. Luckily the guard he had picked up to guide him, was smart enough not to try to be a hero. He had led the detective down here where he claimed his boss was occasionally keeping 'unwelcome guests' locked up. He also had told Treize about a young, Asian teenager who had been kept captive by Catorce for several days, but he wasn't sure if the teen had already been taken somewhere else.

With any luck, Treize thought with satisfaction, he might be able to find and free both, his partner as well as their target.

After a job well done, the guard was now taking a well-deserved, and hopefully long, nap. Sooner or later he would wake up with little more than a headache and a bump on his head where the detective's gun had struck him.

Treize eyed the metal door in front of him. Luckily it was not locked, but only secured with two heavy bolts. As he pushed the bars aside to open the door he wasn't sure what he would find, but he certainly did not expect an attack. So, he was completely caught off guard when something suddenly came flying toward him. A kick to the midsection threw him backward against the wall, temporarily knocking the air out of his lunges. Sensing another blow more than seeing it come, he managed to jerk his head away, and the fist that had been aimed for his chin only grazed the side of his face. Still the punch had enough force behind it to make him see stars for a few moments.

"Treize!" Milliardo's astounded voice reached him through a haze. Moments later the blond was at his side. "Treize, are you alright?"

Treize shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "I'm fine…I think." He grimaced as he gingerly prodded the left side of his face. "This was not the kind of welcome I expected. Did you have to hit so hard, you almost broke my jaw."

"Sorry, but that wasn't me."

The tawny-haired detective turned his head, and only then he noticed another person; a young man who he instantly recognized as Wufei Chang.

Chang eyed him suspiciously. "You know each other?" he asked.

"You could say that," Milliardo confirmed. "He is my partner. – However, I didn't expect to see him here?'

Treize gave his lover a surprised look. "And why is that?"

"I thought you would be cuddled up somewhere with that green-eyed bimbo by now. He looked like he was going to pounce at you right in the club in front of everybody."

His partner's expression turned from surprised to offended. "Did I ever give you any cause to mistrust me?" he asked. "Besides, if I remember right, this whole thing was your idea, so you have no reason to get jealous on me now."

"Jealous, me?" Milliardo snorted, "At someone like him…?"

Wufei felt his ears burn. _I did not just hear that…_ He cleared his throat, hoping to stop the conversation. As far as he was concerned he already heard more than he ever wanted to know about the two detectives. "I hate to interrupt, but maybe we should leave this place?"

"Right," Treize agreed. "By the way, my name is Treize, Treize Khushrenada."

Wufei nodded. "I'm Chang Wufei, but I guess you know that already."

"How did you find us anyway?" Milliardo wanted to know.

"A Good Samarian pointed me in the right direction," Treize gestured at the unconscious guard. "Shall we go now?"

"Wait! How are we going to get past Catorce's men?" the blond asked. "I counted at least a dozen of them upstairs."

"Don't worry about them. They are probably still scrambling, trying to figure out who triggered the alarm even though there are no cops in the club." his partner replied smugly. "Besides, this corridor leads right to the backdoor. Just follow me."

"Not so fast!"

The voice, underlined with an Italian accent, caught the three men by surprise. Treize went instantly for his weapon, but froze when he realized that Catorce was not alone. A second man, tall and with shoulder-long, dirty-blond hair was aiming a large caliber gun at Wufei.

"Look at that, not there are two of them. There must be a nest somewhere." Even in the dim light Treize could see the smug grin on the Italian's face. "I'm glad I came back when I was informed that the alarm went off in the club. I have to say, I'm impressed. Not many people would have managed to get this far. You must be either quite skilled, or extremely lucky. Unfortunately, your luck just ran out." With a gesture of fake sympathy he turned to Treize as he ordered. "Now pull out your gun and drop it to the floor, slowly. Alex here has a very nervous index finger; and he had never missed his target…"

Treize hesitated, not quite ready yet to surrender. Milliardo gazed at Wufei. His eyes widened when he noticed the younger man tensing.  
_Fuck it! Is he crazy or something? Don't tell me he is planning to…_ The blond detective wasn't even able to finish the thought, because Wufei suddenly exploded. With a fierce cry he lunged at the man with the gun. A well-aimed kick sent the pistol flying; a second one threw Alex backward. Milliardo, used to acting on cue, reacted instantly. His fist connected with Catorce's chin, knocking the man out cold in an instant. It was only a small payback for what the Italian had done to him earlier, nevertheless it felt good.

Alex cried out in surprise and rage. For a moment it looked as though he was going to try to get a hold of his weapon again, but Treize quickly stopped him by aiming his own gun at him. "I wouldn't do that," the tawny-haired man warned. "Not unless you would like to take a ride in the back of the coroner's van."

There is no saying what was going on in the blond's mind; maybe he thought that Treize was just bluffing, or perhaps he thought that he was faster than a bullet. He was wrong, on both accounts.  
He leaped forward, reaching for his gun as he rolled up over his shoulder. The detective fired. The bullet hit Alex's right hand, and this time the man hollered in pain. He dropped the gun, and it hit the ground with a clattering sound.

"That was a stupid move," Treize told him. "Consider yourself lucky that I have never missed my target either."

Without taking his eyes of the injured thug he reached into his pocked, pulled out his cell phone and tossed it to his partner. "Milliardo, call the police, and an ambulance for Mister Intelligent here."

Alex, still kneeling on the ground, cradled his bleeding limb. From the way it looked he was probably never going to fire a weapon again with that hand.

* * *

Treize had just finished reading over and signing his statement, when Detective Otto walked back into the interrogation room. After the events at the Risqué, the police had taken him, Milliardo and Wufei Chang 'Downtown', separated them and questions them for nearly two hours. If there was a bright side to this whole situation it was probably the fact that Detective Bonaparte was out of town, working on a different case, which left his partner in charge of this investigation.

As far as Treize knew Catorce had been taken into custody as well, in spite of protests and threats.

"Can I get you some more coffee?"

"Coffee?" the tawny-haired detective eyed the cup that was standing on the table in front of him and raised one eyebrow. "That's what that is supposed to be? It looks more like something that was left over from cleaning the dishes."

Otto chose to ignore the sarcastic comment. Instead, he walked over to the table. As he picked up the papers Treize that had signed, he said: "I've just read the statements given by your partner and Mister Chang as well. They pretty much reflect what you have been telling me. It seems like you have been clearly acting in self-defense. I don't think that any charges will be filed against you or Mr. Peacecraft in this case."

"Does this mean that we are free to go now?"

The detective nodded. "Your partner is already waiting for you upstairs. We offered to have him taken to an emergency room to have his injuries tended to, but he refused."

That didn't surprise Treize the least bit. Milliardo could be as stubborn as a mule if he wanted to. "What about Mister Chang?" the tawny-haired man wanted to know, as he rose from the uncomfortable, wooden chair.

"We called his host family; they came to pick him up about half an hour ago," Otto explained. "They asked me to let you know that they'll get in touch with you tomorrow."

Treize nodded in acknowledgement. "How about Catorce, did his lawyers roll in already?"

"They did," Otto confirmed with a grimace. "He is still insisting that you and Mister Peacecraft broke into his club to rob him, and that you shot his 'bodyguard' when they surprised you. But with Mister Chang's testimony and what we found at the club, not even an army of lawyers will be able to save him this time."

"I'm glad to hear that. And…Just a little suggestion… If I was you I would take a very close look at this so called 'bodyguard' of his."

Detective Otto gave the other man a questioning look.

"When I checked his hand while we were waiting for paramedics to arrive, I noticed a tattoo on his arm and happen to recognize it. He was a member a special forces, sniper group called the Tigers. Someone with sniper training could easily blow off a man's head from a considerable distance. You are still looking for a suspect in the Brook murder, are you not?"

"Are you saying that the murder is connected to this case?" Otto frowned.

"Who knows?" Treize shrugged nonchalantly. "I already gave you a hint; I have no intention to fully do your job. If that's all, I'd like to go now."

* * *

Milliardo braced his left side and grimaced as he kicked off his shoes and settled gingerly onto the soft couch in the living-room.

It was nearly five o'clock in the morning; the sun had already started to rise, when the two detectives arrived at their house. On the way home Treize had insisted on taking his partner to an emergency room, and he hadn't taken NO for an answer.

After some examinations and x-rays, the doctor there had only told them what Milliardo had already known; namely that he had some bruising on his ribs due to repeated blows to the chest.

"Are you alright?" Treize asked sympathetically.

The blond shot his lover an irritated look. "I felt a lot better **before** you dragged me to that emergency room and had that so called doctor poke and prod me. Where the hell did that guy get his medical diploma anyway; a veterinarian school?"

Treize chuckled softly as he walked into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. If Milliardo still could bitch like that he couldn't be feeling too bad.

"I'm glad that at least one of us finds humor in my misery." The blond glared at his lover as he returned with the water.

"Here, take these." Treize handed him the glass and two of the painkillers the doctor had prescribed for Milliardo. "They'll make you feel better. I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to draw a bath for you."

"I don't want a bath; I want to take a shower too."

"I know," the older man replied patiently. "But you are supposed to keep your movements to a minimum for the next few days, remember? So, you are going to take a bath. I'll help you with your hair."

The blond pouted like a stubborn child. "Why is it that you always keep telling me what to do? The last time I checked I was a legal adult who can make his own decisions."

"But of course you can, Dear." Treize agreed innocently. "Now be a good boy and take your medicine."

With a half annoyed, half amused snarl Milliardo grabbed one of the pillows from the couch and hurled it at his lover. "You…!"

Treize gave a low, bubbling laugh as he dodged the projectile and fled the room.

Milliardo smiled softly as he swallowed the two small pills and washed them down with the chilled water. Truth was that he really didn't mind being mothered like this. It wasn't the first time that Treize was taking care of him. And back when his lover first had taken him in, he had been in far worse condition too; just released from the hospital with several broken rips, a fractured wrist and a concussion. One would never guess that Treize had such a soft and nurturing side to him. But the man had cared for him and spoiled him rotten at a time when he was desperate for affection.

He grabbed another pillow and propped it under his head as he stretched out on the couch. A few minutes later a shower was turned on upstairs. Milliardo could hear the water running. His smile turned into a wide smirk. The thought of his lover in the shower, naked and wet, never failed to turn him on.

* * *

T.B.C.

Author's Note:

Feedback is greatly appreciated, constructive criticism is welcome :-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you to everybody who reviewed this story**

In case you wonder what happened to chapter 6, it is a lemon chapter and therefore not posted on you can find it on my website (URL at userpage)

* * *

The Case of the Missing Exchange Student

Part 7

Wufei parked his car in front of the large two-story townhouse, and pulled a small business card from his pocket just to make sure that he was at the right address.

The street and house number matched. Satisfied the young man climbed out of the vehicle and walked up to the house. He rang the doorbell once, then a second time, but everything was quiet inside. Just when Wufei was about to turn away and leave, he could hear footsteps. A few moments later the door was opened.

Treize Khushrenada was dressed in a white cotton robe, even though it was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon.

"Mister Chang…!" the older man raised his hand to push back a few rebellious tendrils of hair that had fallen into his face. "What a surprise."

"I'm sorry," Wufei suddenly felt hesitant. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Don't worry about it." Treize made a dismissive gesture as he stepped aside to allow the young man to pass. "Please come in."

Wufei followed the detective into the house and a large living room.

"Have a seat." Treize gestured at a black leather couch. "And please excuse me while I go and make myself a little more…presentable."

"Treize…," somebody called from upstairs.

Wufei recognized the voice of the blond detective; Milliardo was his name if he remembered right.

"Whoever it is, tell him to go to hell, and come back to bed."

The young Chinese could feel himself blush. "Perhaps…" he stammered. "I should leave. This seems to be a bad time."

"Not at all, not at all," Treize assured him. "There is no reason to leave, now that you made it all the way here. And as for my partner, don't take what he said personally. He is…shall I say not much of a morning person. So, if you would excuse me, I'll be right back."

* * *

As he waited for the other man to return, Wufei let his gaze wander. The living room, if it could be called that, was huge. In fact, the entire downstairs area seemed to be one single room. A chest- high, bar like counter separated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. Everything looked very stylish, very modern and **very** expensive.

But it wasn't the expensive furniture that grabbed Wufei's interest, but a collection of weapons -swords, daggers, blades of all kind – displayed all through the room. He rose to take a better look at the pieces. What the young man noticed right away was the obvious lack of décor and ornamentation on the weapons. These were clearly not the decorative showpieces one could find in most collections. Instead the swords looked…for lack of a better word… worn.

Wufei's attention was drawn to a Chinese Scimitar. Its blade was shiny as thought the owner had just hand polished it, the leather of the hilt smooth and darkened from thorough use.

"I see you discovered my collection."

Treize's voice reached him from the top of the stairs, and Wufei turned his head. "An interesting assortment," he remarked. "I take it those are no replicas."

"No replicas," the tawny-haired man confirmed as he walked down the stairs. "I went through great lengths to buy those weapons from all over the world, and each of them has its own history." He gestured at the scimitar Wufei was standing in front. "Feel free to take it out, I've turned off the alarm system."

"Thanks." Wufei picked the weapon up. It was relatively large, but not too heavy. The hilt felt smooth and cool against the palm of his hand and he grabbed it tightly. Somehow it felt …just right. "A wonderful weapon."

"One of my favorite pieces," Treize nodded in agreement. "Can I get you something to drink; coffee or tea perhaps?"

"Coffee sounds great, thanks."

The tawny haired man gave another nod then headed for the kitchen. Wufei put the scimitar back into its case before following him. As Treize gestured for him to take a seat he slipped into one of the high chairs at the counter, and watched the detective fill the coffeemaker.

"So, Mr. Chang what brings you here?"

"Well, I never got a chance to thank you and your partner last night. I don't know what else might have happened to me if you hadn't helped me escape."

Treize made a dismissive gesture. "Think nothing of it. We were just doing out job. And you surely didn't have to come all the way out here. We could have easily met later this afternoon at our office."

The aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee started to spread through the room, and the tawny-haired man set a cup and some dishes with sugar and cream in front of his guest.

Wufei shrugged. "I'm not sure if I have time later. I talked to my father after I got home last night and he insists that I return to Hong Kong right away. My plane leaves this evening."

"Oh, I see," Treize replied. "I can't say I blame your father for being worried about you, but what about your education? I've heard you have been working hard on your studies, and it is almost time for finals, isn't it?"

"Yes," Wufei nodded. "And I haven't given up on that quite yet. But I figure it will be easier to convince my father in person than over the phone."

"Well, good luck with that." The older man poured coffee for Wufei before filling his own cup. For a few moments they sipped their drinks silently, then Treize looked up at his guest. "I could not help but notice, earlier when you were holding the scimitar; it looked like you knew what you were doing. Do you fence?"

My family owns what you westerners call a Kung Fu school in Hong Kong. So, I was trained in martial arts by my grandfather and father since I was very young, which includes the use of all kinds of weapons."

"I see," Treize nodded. "That explains also the power behind your punch." The older man rubbed his chin, where Wufei had hit him, with a somewhat sheepish grin.

Wufei flushed slightly. "I'm sorry about that."

"No need to apologize." The tawny haired detective flashed him a brilliant smile. "I deserve that one for being so careless. More coffee?"

No, thanks. I'm fine." Wufei shook his head. "I probably should leave soon anyway."

There was another moment of silence as Treize refilled his own cup and put the pot back onto the heating plate.

"Uhm… what exactly did you mean, earlier when you said that all of your weapons come with their own history?" Wufei asked finally.

"Well… Let's just say that I'm more interested in a weapon's past than its rarity or price. The stories behind those swords are what intrigues me; tales of bravery and deception, pain and sacrifice, victory and defeat…" Treize laughed. "I hope I'm not sounding too obsessed ..."

"Face it, Treize; you ARE obsessed." Milliardo came walking down the stairs dressed only in a pair of low-cut blue jeans. Directed at Wufei the blond continued. "I have been trying to tell him that for a long time."

Treize gave his partner an almost offended look. "Alright, so maybe I get a little excited when it comes to my collection, but you are clearly exaggerating."

"Collection?" Milliardo echoed. "This is not a collection, it's an arsenal. "If this country should ever go to war you could single handedly equip a small army. That's of course unless they lock you up before that on suspicion of conspiracy to overthrow the government."

Milliardo was of course just teasing; Treize had permits for each and every weapon he owned.

The older man snorted. He rose to fill another coffee cup and handed it off to his partner. "Here, have some coffee." Then he turned toward Wufei, who had been following the little verbal duel with quiet amusement. "See what I mean about him being grumpy in the morning. But don't worry; a little caffeine will turn him right back into his usual charming self."

"I'm not grumpy," Milliardo insisted, but the tone in which those words were delivered made them less than convincing.

Wufei couldn't help but smile. There was something about those two men that intrigued him. It was clear that in spit of their grumbling and teasing, they obviously cared a great deal for each other. He felt almost sorry that he didn't get a chance to get to know them better. The young man gazed at his wrist watch and realized that he had already spent more time than he had planned. "I'm afraid I have to go. Thanks for the coffee."

"Already?" Milliardo asked. "I hope it wasn't something I said."

"No, no," Wufei assured him. "It's just that I still have a lot to do today."

"Mr. Chang is flying back to Hong Kong tonight," Treize explained.

"He is?" the blond turned to their guest, a surprised expression on his face. "The police is letting you go just like that?"

Wufei nodded as he rose. "They said my statement combined with the evidence should be enough, but there is a slim chance that I might have to come back to testify at the trial."

"That makes sense, I guess."

"Thanks again for your help. As for the bill, just send it to my host family. My father will get in touch with them and take care of it."

Treize nodded in acknowledgement. He walked the young man to the door, exchanging handshakes before they parted. "I hope you have a save trip, and if you are ever back in town, feel free to come by and visit."

"Thank you, I'll do that."

The tawny haired detective watched as Wufei got into his car and drove off. Milliardo was sitting at the table grinning at him from over his coffee cup as he walked back into the kitchen. Treize gave his partner a questioning look.

"He is cute, isn't he?"

The older man rolled his eyes. "Now, if I would have said that I would be sleeping on the couch for at least a week."

Milliardo's grin widened as he put down his cup. "You don't **have** to say it. I know you are thinking it. I know that look on your face and I can read you like a book."

"Oh really?" Treize asked. "Then tell me what am I thinking **now**?"

"Hmmm…" the blond gazed at his lover, stroking his chin in feign thoughtfulness. "You are thinking…that we should go back upstairs and pick up where we left off when the doorbell rang."

Treize laughed. "Good try, but unfortunately wrong. I was actually thinking that you should be making breakfast for a change."

"Breakfast," Milliardo echoed. "You want breakfast if you could have something much better?"

"Yeah well, call me a fool, but occasionally I do like to eat."

"Alright then; breakfast it is," Milliardo sighed theatrically as he rose.

Treize embraced his lover with a warm smile. "Why don't we make it together," he suggested before capturing the younger man's mouth in a tender kiss.

* * *

Case closed

Author's Note: This concludes the first Case of the "I'm Falle eines Falles" arc. In the next case our two favorite detectives are being hired to protect the heir to the Winner fortune. The only problem…Quatre doesn't want to be protected.

Feedback is greatly appreciated, constructive criticism is welcome :-)


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